False Facades
by cashew
Summary: A stormy night finds Ginny a world away and a lifetime from herself. With no memory and no family to guide her she searches for someone she cannot name. Evil pulled them apart, love brings them back. Written with RonandHerm4eva.
1. Intrusions

Chapter One

Intrusions

"I'm telling you, someone is out there."

The elderly man squinted his eyes once more and peered out into the stormy night. "And I'm telling you, Marie, no one is out there. Why, it's raining something fierce tonight, no one, not even thieves, is foolish enough to be out in this weather."

"Harold," she tugged on his arm desperately, "I know what I saw, and I saw someone go into our barn. All I'm asking is that you go and check. Please, for my peace of mind."

"All you're asking is that I go outside and catch my death," he mumbled as he slid on his tattered jack and slung his nearby shotgun over his shoulder. Being sensible to the fear in his wife's eyes, he gave her shoulder a reassuring pat, "you just wait by this window right here. If something's amiss in the barn I'll yell and you use that there phone to call the police."

She nodded hurriedly and fell on her knees the second he closed the door. "Please, God," she whispered, "please protect us."

After finishing her short prayer, she kept her eyes glued on the barn. He would signal her if something was wrong, and then she would get him help--but if that person had overpowered him then he wouldn't be able to send her a signal!

Marie's eyes widened in fear and panic, she grabbed the phone off the receiver and sent her thanks upward that the phone lines had yet to fall victim to the storm raging outside. Taking a breath, she called Sheriff Wilkins as fast as her fingers would dial.

Harold kicked open the double door entrance to the barn, hoping to scare away whatever it was that his wife had caught a glimpse of. It was most likely some sort of animal…probably a stray cat, he smiled to himself, she always had had an overactive imagination.

"Get!" he yelled out, "get out of here!" Soon enough he heard a rustling in the far corner of the barn. He walked passed the stalls that had once held cows, steers, and horses taking note that years ago, when the farm had been alive, he would have never been able to hear that noise over the liveliness of the animals.

His hands tightened around the gun as he drew closer to the spot where the noise had come from. Something was indeed there; he only hoped that it wasn't something large enough to do any harm to him. Harold was nothing if not realistic; he knew very well that he couldn't fight off a wild animal.

Taking a deep inward breath, he jumped in front of the corner with his gun pointing steadily in front of him.

He was greeted with a cry, then a moan, and then only silence. Harold looked down; truly shocked for the first time in many years…laying there in front of him was a young girl that couldn't have been more than sixteen years old.

Seeing that she had lost consciousness he set his gun down and bent down to her level. She still had a strong pulse, but her skin was too hot for the chilly night. His hand moved instinctively up to her forehead, she had a high fever. He would have guessed at least a hundred and three.

He bit his lip, Marie had always taken care of the children, he wasn't sure if one this sick should be moved or not. He looked around at the barn that had fallen harshly from its prime days and now looked to be in danger of coming apart at its seams, she couldn't stay here. Forgetting the gun he hefted the girl into his arms and walked as swiftly back to the house as his treacherous legs would carry him.

The second he came into view Marie threw open the door and let out a terrified squeak when she saw that he wasn't alone. Her fear quickly subsided when she took notice that their new guest was young, female, and seemingly not dangerous.

Harold shook the rain from him in a way not dissimilar to an animal, spraying water in every direction. "She's sick," he said breathlessly, "and unconscious. I think she's in trouble, Marie."

The old woman surveyed the youth with growing sympathy, "go put her in the spare bedroom, and then get her something to wear, she needs out of those wet clothes."

"She's burning up though; wouldn't a cold shower be better for her?"

Marie quickly shook her head, "no, quick sudden changes like that to her body temperature could send her into shock. It needs to be gradual, she needs warm clothes and I'll go get her a damp washcloth."

Her husband asked no more questions, he knew better than to think he knew more about dealing with the ill than his wife. When they reached his son's old bedroom, he placed her gently onto the covers and opened the closet door to pull out a t-shirt and sweats that had been left behind from his son's last visit.

Harold sat the clothes beside the girl and awkwardly waited for Marie to come and change her.

"Harold," Marie busted into the room with a clear showing of authority over the situation, "you go get yourself changed, last thing we need is two sick people around here. Then you go on out and wait for the Sheriff, he's on his way."

He gave his wife a questioning glance at the word sheriff, but complied anyway, he supposed it would be best for the sheriff to know about the girl. Perhaps they knew who she was…most likely a runaway. There were a lot of those around his neck of the woods, young kids with idealistic values that saw themselves as misunderstood and unconventional. Younglings with big opinions, and no clue as to how the real world functioned. Sooner or later, they all ended up like this young girl, scared and alone.

He sighed and walked out to the living room, the sheriff would be here soon enough, and then this would all be taken care of.

Marie pulled the shabby looking robe off the girl. She was no expert in the latest fashions these days, but she knew by the immodest outfits her son's girlfriends paraded around in that bulky robes were not something largely sought after.

Never one to invade the privacy of others Marie attempted to clothe the girl quickly, but she couldn't help but notice her pitiful body. The poor thing was obviously a victim of malnutrition, with her bony body and loose flesh Marie feared she might break her. She also had hideous bruises and scars running all over her body.

Marie slid the oversized t-shirt onto the girl and gently traced her finger along a scar that extended all down the girl's arm. Looking at her face it was easy to see that the girl was pretty. Most likely beautiful when she wasn't unconscious with fever and covered in scars.

The sweatpants were far too large for the small girl, but they would make do. Marie pressed the damp cloth on her forehead and moved it gently around her face, praying that the girl would wake soon.

Her prayers seemed to be answered though as wild brown eyes slid open and looked around hastily. The girl sat up quickly, but then fell back down after experiencing extreme dizziness.

Marie placed a reassuring hand on the girl's shoulder, "there, there now, go slowly."

The girl moaned and put a hand on her feverish forehead. "I'm…so hot," she croaked hoarsely. "Water…"

Nodding unconsciously, Marie stood and made her way into the kitchen so she could get the poor child a glass of water. Promptly ignoring her husband's intense eyes and raised eyebrows she filled the glass and hurried back to the room.

If it were possible, the girl looked more beaten and exhausted awake than she had moments before when she was helplessly lost in a dream world. Marie ultimately decided that it could be attributed to the girl's expressive and deep brown eyes. The eyes were a window to the soul, and she clearly had an old soul. She had seen far more than she should have, lost the innocence that Marie first believed of her.

The girl had hoisted herself up against the pillows and looked as though the act of sitting up was the equivalent of running a marathon.

Marie handed her the glass carefully and pulled up a chair beside the bed. After waiting for the girl to have, her fill of water Marie took the glass back. "Are you feeling any better?"

"A little…thank you."

The woman's eyes widened, the girl had an accent. Living in Kentucky, she knew the difference between a southern and northern accent…this was neither. She couldn't be sure, but it sounded English. "What's your name, dear," she prompted gently.

"My name" the girl repeated. Her eyebrows furrowed and she appeared to be in deep thought. "I don't know." She then began to look panicked, "I don't know my name! I don't know who I am!"

"What do you mean she's gone? How can she just be gone, she has to be somewhere!" The young man angrily picked up a nearby glass and smashed it against the wall. "I told you to protect her!"

A man in black, a man with no name and responsibilities to no one other than himself, leaned back casually in his chair. "You told me to watch her; I did as you paid me to do."

"Why did you not intervene, you allowed them to take her away from me!"

"They didn't take her away, she left."

The boy, tall and lanky, his childhood not far behind him, looked down at his hands with a mixture of disbelief and pure agony. "She couldn't have left; he would not have just let her leave."

The man shrugged, tired of taking orders from a child. "I saw what I saw; you can take it or leave it."

Harry closed his eyes in an obvious struggle to keep his emotions in check. "Do you know where she went?"

"All I know is she left. Left alone, disappeared into the night, if such a thing is possible."

"But she was--is--alive?"

"Aye, she was alive. Of course, I can longer vouch for that…but she was very much alive."

Harry ran an exasperated hand over his face and slung a bag onto the table. "Our business is done. I'll take it from here. If you remember anything though, anything at all, you come to me. My funds will never run dry for her."

The man in black snatched up the weighted bag of coins and left the room gracefully. Harry knew he wouldn't be back, men like that--men who referred to themselves as 'private investigators' of a higher breed--were normally only of use once. They then disappeared, never to be seen, nor heard of, again.

Harry moved to the window and stared out at the black night. His eyes drifted up to the moon knowing that somewhere she was looking at that same moon. That thought comforted him little for the fact remained that she was somewhere else, and not here with him.

He ran his thumb absentmindedly over the glass, "Ginny," he moaned softly, "where are you?"

Marie softly touched the girl's long red hair as she slept peacefully. Whoever she was, she seemed at rest now. However, Marie could feel a storm brewing under the calm feel in the air. The girl would need her rest; she knew that much for sure.

With a sigh she went out to the living room to talk to the sheriff, a report would need to be filed on the girl. Someone, somewhere, would be searching for her. Marie closed her eyes and hoped that whoever that person was that they could feel that the girl was safe.


	2. Misunderstandings

False Facades

Chapter Two

Misunderstandings

Her eyes fluttered open with uncertainty. She immediately found the other occupant of the room, the woman. Her breathing quickened as her panic grew; the woman was here to finish it. She was here on his behalf, she was here to--

"Dear," Marie gently prodded, "are you all right?"

Despite her elevating pain, the girl crawled over to the corner of the bed and placed herself in a fetal position. "Don't hurt me, don't hurt me, don't hurt me," she muttered in quick repetition.

"I…I wouldn't hurt you. Are you okay, do you need something?"

"Don't hurt me, don't hurt me, don't hurt me."

Marie's hand found its way to her mouth as she stared on in shock. There was obviously something horribly wrong here…she had to do something. The poor child had to be helped.

"Harold," she called out as she quickly fled the room, "Harold, where are you?"

Her husband hobbled out of their bedroom and immediately steadied his wife. "Marie, what's wrong?"

"The girl," she responded breathlessly, "there is something wrong with the girl."

Harold led Marie back to their son's room and he saw the child himself for the first time in a two days. They had reported the incident to the sheriff, but nothing had come of it. He took down the report and promised to call back with any findings, but so far, nothing had come up. The girl was still nameless, and had stayed unconscious since her first night with them.

He saw with alarm that she was rocking herself back and forth, incoherently rambling nonsense. He approached her and reached a hand out to calm her, but received the opposite affect.

When she felt something touch her, she knew that it was over, that they were finally going to kill her. She let out an earsplitting scream that ceased to desist for several minutes.

Husband and wife stared at each other helplessly as the girl screamed and cried simultaneously. Marie's eyes filled with tears, Harold's took on a newfound distress.

"Harold, we need to take her to a hospital," Marie called out over the noise.

He nodded in silent agreement. There had been no acute need to go to the hospital previously; they had never once taken their own child to the hospital, only to the doctor's office for the usual check-ups. Marie had seen to the girl's needs to the best of her ability, which seemed to be working, until now. The fever had broke, but now appeared to be back.

Harold bent down and tentatively picked up the girl, praying that she would not again begin her screams of desolation. He nearly sighed in relief in the knowledge that she had once again lost consciousness, until he at once reminded himself that this was not at all a good sign.

He led Marie at a hastened pace to their steadfast truck that had seen them faithfully through so many years. He carefully slid the girl into the passenger's seat and then scooted her over so that she resided in the middle. Marie crawled up beside her and helplessly pressed a cool cloth to the girl's forehead.

Harold drug himself up to the driver's seat, and threw the truck into gear. He steered out of the long and narrow driveway and drove safely and slowly down the road; however, once realizing for the first time that the girl could be in mortal danger, he jammed down on the accelerator.

The girl whimpered hopelessly in her obvious chambers of horror.

-------

"Mr. Potter, please take a seat."

Harry whirled around and glared at his mentor murderously. "I will do as I please," he responded with discontentment.

Albus Dumbledore sighed at the sight and rubbed his weary eyes, the years had clearly taken their toll on his dedicated cheerfulness. "Harry," he said with an unusual familiarity, "please calm yourself. I understand your position on the situation--"

"You understand nothing. If you had the slightest inkling of my 'situation' you would not keep me here as a prisoner."

"You are not a prisoner, Harry, and I am not your enemy. My efforts to keep you within the walls of Hogwarts are for your own safety." He paused for a moment and then added quietly, "As well as that of Miss Weasley's."

Harry's glare deepened, "You don't have the right to even mention her. Not after what you did."

"I did not do--"

"Yes you did! If it weren't for you and all your plans, Ginny would still be here! Instead I don't even know if she is alive." Looking at his one-time hero in nothing short of disgust, Harry turned on his heel and stalked out of the large office without so much as waiting for any kind of response. In his mind, Dumbledore was not worthy of his faith, time, or anything of the kind.

He had to leave. There must be some way out of this school. Dumbledore had seen to it that Harry was magically bound here…Well, not for long he wouldn't be. If it required going to Hell and back, Harry would find a way out of here. He would find a way to her, because he knew with all his heart that she would do the exact same for him.

Picking up to a sprinting speed, he raced out of the school and onto the grounds of Hogwarts. Gaining faith and momentum, he ran full-force at the Forbidden Forrest…only to have himself propelled backwards by an invisible shield that only applied to three other people at the school.

He drug himself up from the ground and cursed loudly at his stupidity. Of course, something like that wouldn't work, but he was growing desperate, and anxious people are rarely known for being wise. He gave an animalistic growl and glared at his invisible foe.

Staggering back to the school, he found that it was time for extreme measures. He had sworn that he would do whatever it took to get out of Hogwarts, and if that meant dealing with the proverbial devil, then he would.

Harry raced down the stairs and into the dungeons of the school. He found the Slytherin quarters with practiced ease and waited outside the portrait until an unsuspecting first year strolled by.

"You," he snarled, as he grabbed the boy by his green and silver robes, "open up the portrait."

The boy regarded Harry fearfully, as well he should have. He nodded quickly and rubbed the nonexistent bruises that he was sure that Harry Potter had placed there. With a shaky voice, he said the password and allowed the enemy of his house into their headquarters.

Harry sauntered into the Common Room and sounds of indigence and shock were immediately heard. He ignored the protests to his presence and made his way over to the fire where he grabbed Draco Malfoy by the shoulder and pulled him up.

"I need to talk to you."

Draco's mouth fell open. "Now see here, Potter--"

Harry roughly shoved Malfoy towards the hallway. "I wasn't asking."

Draco took out his wand and gave a meaningful gaze around the room as he led his adversary back out into the hallway in which from he came. Smirks were seen around the room, Malfoy would take care of Potter for having the sheer gall of coming into the snake's lair.

Once away from prying eyes, Malfoy pocketed his wand. "Subtle, Potter, way to keep things quiet. What the hell do you want?"

"Sorry," Harry apologized flippantly. "I didn't have time to continue with the ridiculous means of communication that you decided upon. I need to get out of here."

"I cannot help you there, I'm as trapped here as you."

"You could leave if you wanted."

Draco seemed hesitant. "Yes…I suppose I could. But to what purpose? If I did leave, I would be good as dead. I, unlike you, value my life and do not care to waste it upon reckless action."

"I need to speak with your father. Arrange it."

"Has that scar finally interfered with your brain, Potter? You seem to forget that I put up with you for reasons other than your outstanding personality."

Harry's fist clenched of its own accord. "If you care for her at all, you will help me."

Draco appeared pensive for a moment. "I…" He ran a hand through his hair, "I'll set it up. But first you have to tell me why you need to talk to him."

"Because he can lead me to Voldemort," Harry answered nonchalantly.

"You do realize you're going to get yourself killed, right? How in the fuck do you expect You-Know-Who to help you do anything other than meet your parents?"

"Don't concern yourself; just find a way for your father to meet me on Hogwarts grounds."

"Fine, not like I care if you die, less competition that way anyway."

------

Marie sat silently in the waiting room chair. It had been two hours since they had raced down the hallway with the girl, and still no news. The Emergency Room was a surprisingly busy place; no one had so much as talked to her since she had come.

At last, a nurse made her way over to the elderly woman. "I am sorry about the disorganization of all this," the nurse said with a cheerful smile that did not belong in the halls of despair. "Things have just been crazy tonight; we didn't even get a chance to take down the patient's name…so if you could please just fill this out for me now, and bring it to the Nurse's Station when you're done."

Marie looked down at the chart filled with questions that she was unable to answer, beginning with name of patient.

"You are," the nurse presumed, "the mother of the patient, correct?"

"No," Marie responded automatically.

The nurse appeared alarmed, "They told me that she's a minor though…we need one of her parent's here, for authorization to proceed with care taking. If a legal guardian is not here then we'll have to release her."

Marie gasped at this possibility; they were not going to help the girl! In her panic, she did something grossly out of her character…she lied. "Her father is here. He just went down to get some coffee; he'll be back in a minute."

The nurse smiled comfortingly, "Good. Just make sure that he fills this out when he comes back then. And we'll need a copy of your insurance card."

"Of course," Marie muttered as she lost herself in planning. They needed proof of insurance for the girl…

She spotted Harold as he walked through the double doors, and went to a near sprint to get to him. "Harold," she hissed, "They need a present parent and an insurance card to treat the girl."

A strained look came across his features, "That's horrible. What'll happen to her?"

"I…I told them that you were…her father."

"You lied?"

Marie looked down at the floor, "It was for a good cause. But, the insurance…"

He appeared perplexed for a moment before allowing a small smile. "Alex," he stated simply.

"Alex?" she repeated, not comprehending why her husband would bring up their son with such ill-timing.

"We still have Alex on our insurance; we'll tell them that that is the girl's name. Alex is a girl's name too, right?"

"Yes," Marie agreed, feeling a weight being lifted off her shoulders, "it is."

Harold gave his wife's hand a reassuring squeeze before grabbing the clipboard and lying on every single question without a trace of guilt. 

He walked the papers up to the Nurses Station along with his insurance card. She ran the information through the computer without any indication of a problem until she reached the insurance company.

"It says here that one Alexander Collins is on your insurance plan with the listed age of nineteen."

Harold swallowed. "Her name is Alexandra, it was a mix-up…and we never told you her age. She appears young for her age," he gave a smile that he didn't feel; "it's something that she is constantly complaining of. Best not to bring it up with her, it isn't the quickest way to get on her good side."

The nurse laughed good-naturedly, "Of course. I'll keep it quiet then. If you'll just have a seat over there, someone will be out momentarily to speak with you."

After waiting another twenty minutes with his impatient wife, Harold finally spotted a doctor making his way towards them. Marie grabbed his hand as the tired young man stood uneasily in front of them.

"Are you here for an Alexandria Collins?"

"Yes," they responded simultaneously.

He wiped a bead of sweat off his brow. "If you'll please come with me."

They were led down a white hallway until they reached an office door. "I thought this conversation would be better suited in my office," he explained as he opened the door and motioned them in.

Harold and Marie took their respective seats as the doctor collapsed back into his own behind the large oak desk.

"Your daughter," he began, "was suffering from extensive internal bleeding. It's a wonder that she's still alive, really."

Marie's eyes closed in relief, "She is alive then?"

The doctor allowed a small smile, "Yes, she is. However," he pulled out a series of x-ray photographs, "as you can see here she had multiple injuries. As I stated previously, her internal bleeding was the most severe thing. Her right shoulder was dislocated, and several of her cuts are infected and, quite frankly, alarming. She has wide-ranging bruising and swelling on the back of her head that could have easily developed into a concussion. As she remains unconscious I will have to ask you, how did she come by these injuries?"

They looked at each other and remained silent for an uncomfortable amount of time.

"She," Harold finally said, "she…took a fall."

"What sort of fall?"

"From…our barn. She was on an unsteady ladder that collapsed on her."

"Her injures appeared to be advanced. May I inquire as to why you did not feel the need to bring her in until now?"

Marie began to cry, which only furthered the doctor's suspicions. "I didn't think that she was that badly hurt," she said frantically. "I'm sorry…so sorry."

Harold patted his wife's back as the doctor leaned back in his chair and felt an overwhelming amount of sympathy for Alexandria Collins.

Marie got her emotions under control and peered up at the doctor who was at least thirty years her junior with a pitiful helplessness. "Can we see her?"

"I'm afraid not," he responded coolly. "She is in Recovery at the moment and we do not allow any visitors to patients until they are stabilized. If you'll go back out into the waiting room I'll send someone to notify you when you may see her."

They stood and left the office without protest. Once they were gone, Dr. Morrison picked up his phone and called down to the ER office. "Nurse," he ordered, "please ensure that Alexandria Collins parents do not leave the waiting room."

-------

The now off-duty doctor sat by his patient's bed with an unprecedented amount of curiosity. It wasn't often that he felt the need to talk to anyone that he treated anymore than absolutely necessary.

He watched with relief as her large brown eyes opened and looked at him with nothing short of fright. Poor girl, he thought, of course she was terrified.

"Alexandria," he addressed gently.

She stared on blankly.

He turned to face her more clearly. "Alexandria," he said louder.

"Who are you?" she asked quietly.

"I'm Dr. Morrison; I treated you here at St. John's Hospital. Can you answer a few questions for me?"

She nodded mutely.

He began what was under most circumstances the nurse's duty for any patients with stated head injures. "Can you tell me the date?"

She seemed thoughtful, and then alarmed. "No."

"Can you tell me your name?"

From recent memory she answered, "Alexandria?"

"And your last name?"

"I…don't know."

"Where do you live?"

She began crying and merely shook her head to indicate a negative response.

"Alexandria, what is the last thing that you remember?"

"I don't know," she cried pitifully. "I…" she grew suddenly pale. She tried to back away from him, but failed, as there was nowhere to go. "Please don't hurt me, please don't hurt me." He looked on wonderingly as she continued to cry.

Dr. Morrison walked out of the solitary room and straight to the nearest desk. He looked meaningfully at a nameless nurse, "I need you to get the police on the line for me."

-----


	3. Confusion

False Facades

A/N—Sorry if the whole Alexandria thing causes any confusion. Alexandria is Ginny, but no one knows her as Ginny, and since she has no memory for the time being, she does not know to correct them. So whenever someone refers to Alexandria, they are referring to Ginny.

God, I'm excited to write something angsty where it will be _accepted_ and not bitched about. Insert pointed stare at Unconventional Commitments readers.

Chapter Three

Dr. Morrison slid quietly into room 731, his last stop before he went off-call.

His entrance went unnoticed by Alexandria, and he took a moment to observe her. She was staring blankly out the window, as the nurses often whispered that she did. They said that her vacant expression spooked them…it only intrigued the doctor.

In the five days since their hectic meeting, he had come to view Alexandria as more than a patient. Something about her called to him, and it had been so long since he had felt any sort of connection with another human being that he was not about to ignore it. Doctor/Patient codes be damned, he had all ready taken all of her medical expenses upon himself. The last thing that this girl needed was thousands of dollars owed to a hospital.

"Alexandria?" he called gently.

"Doctor," she greeted without breaking her gaze out the window.

He walked over and sat in the chair beside her bed. "Why do you stare out the window so often?"

"Why do you come in here at 6:15 every evening?"

"Because I am a creature of habit, what is your excuse?"

"I wouldn't know. It's like…I can feel someone staring back at me…does that make any sense?"

"Not especially. We are on the seventh floor; no other building faces this one. No one is spying on you, Alex."

"I didn't mean it that way. I just…I know it's naïve and I'd probably be better off to just accept the fact that I was abused or whatever and no one really cares for me…but it feels like someone is not so much staring at me, but staring for me. Like they are searching for me."

"I do not find that to be naïve. And just because you were misfortunate to be born unto a family that would mistreat you, that does not mean that you are uncared for."

She shrugged lightly. "I want to talk about something else."

"All right. How about we talk about…your release?"

Alexandria looked nearly frightened. "I'm being released?"

"In two days. You're looking well enough that there is no need for you to hang around here any longer."

"Where…where will I go?"

He took a breath. "Where would you like to go?"

She unconsciously turned to the window. "Someplace that feels like home. Someplace that will help me remember…anything."

Jack leaned up in the chair, "You understand that you cannot go to your home, correct? Your parents are under investigation…"

"I understand, you explained it to me yesterday. But, I what I don't understand is…you've talked to them, right?"

"Yes, I have."

"And they are from here?"

"Kentucky. Yes, they are."

"So how come I have a British accent then?"

"I...I don't know." Jack resisted the urge to smack himself on the forehead, how on earth had that escaped his attention? Of course he realized that Alexandria was British, her accent was one of the many things that intrigued him, but…he had been too busy attempting to save her to exercise any common sense.

"I would like to talk to them," she continued.

"I cannot permit that."

"I am not asking, Doctor. I am obviously not a native, and you tell me that they are. Something doesn't fit, I need to know what."

"All right," he relented, "but I am to be present when you conduct this interview of yours."

"That's fine. May we do it tomorrow?"

"If you still feel determined to speak to them tomorrow, then yes, we shall call them in…"

* * *

Harry paced the grounds anxiously. Malfoy had swore on payment of death that his father would be at this exact location at eleven…It was five till.

How Lucius Malfoy had the means to unnoticeably come to Hogwarts grounds Harry did not know, nor did he care. If it meant his escape, and a conference with Voldemort, then he would call upon the devil himself if needed.

Three till. This was all just wasted time…every second that he spent standing around, Ginny was that much closer to being lost to him forever. How could he have been so dumb? Of course Voldemort would want her; it had all been so obvious—

"Good evening, Mr. Potter."

Harry whipped around. "Mr. Malfoy.

"You wished to see me?"

"Yes. Yes, I did. I want you to get me a portkey out of Hogwarts, and then you are going to take me to Voldemort."

Malfoy sneered, "And explain to me why I would do a thing such as that?"

"Because you are a selfish bastard who loves to use people at any occasion possible. Here I am, the very person that Voldemort wants the most, volunteering to allow you to present me to him. You should jump at the chance."

"Even you are not that thick, Mr. Potter. There are games afoot…"

"He has information that I need. I assure you that there is no trick."

"Your word means nothing to me."

"Then Vertaserum me or leave, for right now you are just wasting my time."

A look of comprehension came across Malfoy. "I see. This is about the girl, is it not?"

Harry glared in silence.

"Harry Potter, ever the hero. Very well then, Potter."

Lucius slid a thick gold ring off of his finger, "A reusable portkey to Malfoy Manor. Press down on the snake for three seconds to activate it."

Harry accepted the ring, and turned it to where the snake was visible. He took one last glance up at Malfoy, before closing his thumb over the snake and holding down so harshly that he felt his knuckle turn white.

He was nearly reassured by the uncomfortable tug at his navel, which alerted him that there was now no backing out. Malfoy saw him as a proverbial meal ticket, there was no way that Lucius would allow him to do anything besides go straight to Voldemort…

No matter. Harry wanted nothing more than to face Voldemort once more. He wasn't the inexperienced underdog that he had been in all previous encounters. He wouldn't be requiring dumb luck this time around.

At least, he hoped not. For Harry Potter's luck had long since run out…

* * *

Alexandria bolted up in her bed, panting heavily. It had been horrible. There was…

She nearly cried out in frustration, she had all ready forgotten! That dream was a connection to her past, she just knew it. If only she could just remember it…

She rubbed her temples, as if this action would will a memory out. It had been dark. It had been a nightmare. Only, it was not a nightmare, it was reality. Her reality.

She took a few deep breaths, and then rolled up the sleeves of her hospital gown. In an eerie fascination she stared down at the bruises and scars that lined both arms. Each one was a secret of her past.

Ever since she had made the accent connection, her 'parents' had been cleared in her mind. No one had abused her…someone had tortured her.

She took her right hand and ran it up her left arm. She bit back the flinches of pain, some of the cuts were more healed than others. Each had been inflicted at a different time. The bruises were of various coloring…

Some old couple could not have done this to her. No, this, _this_ was the work of—

It was on the tip of her tongue. A name was just out of her reach…

It was so maddening! Every time it seemed as though she was about to recall something it would run away from her. It was like someone had put a spell on her.

Spell. She repeated the word several times over quietly, each time she said it, it provoked the same feeling in her abdomen that she had received with the name thing.

She felt tears stinging her eyes, but blinked them back. She had done so much crying ever since she woke up in that house. It shamed her to cry…but, of course, she did not know why.

Once rested back on the pillows, Alexandria attempted to locate sleep once more, for she was positive that the first clue to her memory was in her dreams…but sleep was no where to be found.

* * *

Several hours later, when day had broke and it was deemed a 'normal' hour for patients to be awake, Alexandria had possession of a large thesaurus in her lap.

She flipped it to the esses. Alternate words for spell…charm, curse, enchant, hex, suggest, mean, bout, interlude….there were dozens of words. None made any sense, either.

The book was closed with a huff; it was obviously her impatience and sheer will for familiarity that had brought on her reaction to the word. So now she was forcing almost-memories upon herself…how depressing.

The door opened and she turned to face the doctor, whom she had been expecting all morning.

"I still want to speak with them," she said the second he was within hearing range.

He appeared disappointed. "Very well, Alexandria. I phoned them yesterday evening, they are scheduled to be here at noon…but if you desire to back out at any time, I will support you in that decision."

She sat up on the bed, and couldn't bring herself to look him in the eyes. "I-I wanted to ask a favor of you. You see, I don't…that is at the moment…I have no clothes, other than these thin paper robe things. You don't suppose that you could possibly find me something else to wear?"

"The only things that I personally have right now are scrubs. But you wouldn't want to wear those—"

"Anything is fine, really. I don't want to trouble you, it's just that these robes…they have no back."

Morrison let out a bark of laughter, but then cleared his throat to cover it up upon seeing her look of reprimand. "Yes, I can see how that could be an issue. I'll go down to my locker now and get those for you."

She nodded, "All right." The doctor left the room, and Alexandria was once again left to her confused thoughts. She knew that she wanted to talk to the couple that had brought her here…but she had no idea what she wished to say to them.

How does one go about the business of accusing an elderly couple of lying? But why would they have lied and stated that she was their daughter, what could they possibly stand to gain out of that? It made no sense; but, then again, little in her life made sense.

* * *

Harry regarded Lucius Malfoy in the only way that he knew possible: wearily.

When they had arrived at Malfoy Manor, instead of dragging him straight to Voldemort, Malfoy had sat Harry down in his study and offered him a brandy. Which, Harry was not thick enough to accept; he wouldn't put poisoning above the likes of Lucius.

"If I wanted to kill you, Mr. Potter," Malfoy drawled, reading Harry's mind, "I would find a far more creative way than poisoning."

"I'm not thirsty," Harry responded shortly. Poisoned or not, it was not a stellar idea to consume alcohol right before meeting Voldemort.

Harry nearly smirked as he thought of his opponent. Vol de mort. Flight of death. He refused to find himself in a place of terror over someone that spent their entire life running from death. At least he, Harry Potter, did not fear death.

At times he almost looked forward to death. If he were dead then he wouldn't have to worry constantly. All he did was worry. Worry about Ginny, worry about the fate of the Wizarding World, worry that he would let everyone down…He was sick of it, all of it. Why should the entire future of the Wizarding World lie at his feet? He was barely seventeen, it wasn't fair.

"Thoughts of regret, Mr. Potter?"

"I regret nothing. Much as I appreciate this little scene that you have set up, you are really just wasting time. I am prepared to face Voldemort."

"You seem to be overly concerned with time, Potter. Time is, after all, only what it appears to be. It is easily tricked, manipulated, and changed."

"I don't understand."

"That ceases to shock me. I know what, or should I say who, you want…I see not why we cannot come to an agreement of sorts."

Harry looked Malfoy in the eyes. "You know where she is," he stated.

"That, Mr. Potter, is the true question here, is it not? You want your Weasley—"

"And what do you want?"

"That should be quite obvious. I desire power, Potter. Power which I cannot receive while serving under another."

"You want me to kill Voldemort."

"Quid pro quo, Mr. Potter. I give you information; you do that which I cannot."

Harry comprehended Malfoy after a moment. Upon receiving the Dark Mark, it is the same as a curse being placed on you. Anyone with the Dark Mark may not, at any time, harm their lord. It is a psychical inefficiency, if they attempt to turn their wand or any weapon on Voldemort, they become crippled and useless.

Harry had been planning on fighting Voldemort anyway. If he could find Ginny beforehand, then so much the better.

"I shall agree to that, Malfoy, under one condition: you accept my word that I have every intention of going after Voldemort, but only after I find Ginny."

"As I stated before, Potter, your word means nothing to me."

"I refuse to do anything until I see for myself that Ginny is alive and well."

"You were perfectly willing to go to Him when you called upon me without seeing your precious Weasley first."

"Well things have changed now. Take it or leave it, Malfoy."

"A blood promise first, Mr. Potter."

Harry unconsciously ran a hand thru his hair. "Fine."

Malfoy opened a drawer in his desk and placed a piece of parchment on the table. He lifted a quill and began to write:

_Upon a blood oath, Harry J. Potter shall face the Dark Lord in two weeks time._

_I, Lucius C. Malfoy, shall relinquish all information regarding one Ginerva M. Weasley beforehand. After which time Harry J. Potter shall have precisely fourteen days to complete his task of the demise of the Dark Lord._

Malfoy signed his name, and handed the quill to Harry. Harry followed suit before pricking his finger with the end of the quill, and pressing his bleeding index finger down on the parchment.

* * *

A/N—Sorry that this took so long to get out. I had about half of it written for a while, but I got stuck…the ending kind of sucks. I might change it later. Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, the comments and support are much appreciated! 


	4. The Beginning

False Facades 

Chapter Four

Alexandra stared blankly at the doctor in front of her.

"So I was right," she said in a sad tone.

"Didn't you want to be?"

"I don't know. If I had been wrong then at least I would have had some answers…Now I just have more questions."

"Alexan—"

She held up a hand to silence him. "That isn't even my name. I'm no one, just a nameless face without a clue, nor a family."

He leaned back in frustration, "Don't think that way. Pessimism is not going to help you regain your memory."

She regarded him reproachfully, "That's a scientific fact, is it?"

"My own personal belief," he answered testily.

"Well your opinions aren't going to help me. What am I supposed to do? Where am I going to go? I have nothing besides the clothes on my back, and they aren't even real clothes! I am completely alone and I'd say that I've never been so frightened in my life, but _I wouldn't know_!"

Her uncontrollable sobs took over as she hid her face in her arms. The doctor watched her uneasily; he had never done well with crying females.

"I know more about your situation than you think. I may have a fully intact memory, but that doesn't make my past clear. I've never known my parents—or any member of my family for that matter. You aren't the only person who has no one else."

She stared on. That sounded so familiar, _I've never known my parents_…Maybe she was an orphan as well. That would just fulfill her life.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "Sometimes it's just so simple to become immersed in your own problems that it blinds you completely."

"I spent years that way. Believe me, I understand. You don't have to do it alone though. There is help available to you…help that I only wish that I could have had.

"I need help," she responded in a tone barely above a whisper, "I know that. But something is telling me that I'd be better of doing it alone."

"You're never better of alone," Jack stated. "Let me help you, please. I have six spare bedrooms, none of which are in use…you'd never even have to see me if you didn't want to," he ended lightly.

"I…that is extremely gracious of you, but I couldn't take advantage of you in that way. I all ready know that you paid my bills—and I'll pay you back, I swear it—I couldn't take any more charity from you."

"It isn't charity. I want to help you, let me."

"You don't even know me. _I_ don't even know me! Why would you do that for me?"

"It's complicated."

"Well I have all the time in the world."

"I, on the other hand, do not. I'm on call at the ER for the next six hours. Get some sleep…You're being released in the morning, when I'm off-call I'll come back, you may inform me of your decision then."

She stared on silently; he had all ready lost her to her thoughts. Jack sighed and walked out of the room, he so desperately wanted to understand her. He had a feeling that he needed to.

* * *

Harry tapped his foot impatiently; Malfoy was taking his sweet time releasing that information. 

"You know, Malfoy, we could begin at any time."

"My apologies, Potter, I was unaware of the time clause in our contract."

Harry glared in response. The contract had all ready caused him regret…and it had only been five minutes. _Never sign a blood contract_, he had always been told…They're tightly bond with strong magic, and rarely a good idea to agree to. If it helped Ginny though—if he could save her somehow…then the payment of death would be little to ask. It was nothing he couldn't afford.

"Talk," Harry said while taking out his wand, "before I make you."

"As stated, your threats mean little. However, I am a busy man, so I shall give you your information, and then be gone from my sight."

"I would love nothing more than to leave and never lay eyes on you again, so let's get started."

"Very well. She is in America."

"The U.S.? Where?"

"This I know not. The Dark Lord has only recently discovered this."

"That's your information then? You narrowed my search down to a country with three hundred million people!"

"Good luck with your search," Malfoy said sadistically.

* * *

She sat decisively on the edge of the newly made hospital bed. She had slept…she had dreamed…and she was going home with her doctor. 

Her dreams were growing steadily worse. She still had trouble recalling any of them—but the feeling upon waking up was enough. She didn't want to be alone, she knew that much.

There was still time before Jack was off-call…she snatched the pad of paper that was on the nightstand along with a pen, and she unconsciously began to draw.

Hair—thick, dark hair. Eyes—expressive and deep. The head took on character rapidly, every detail etched from a memory that she couldn't recall. She drew without stop nor breath for what seemed to be hours. Near perfection stared up at her, but something was missing…

Her hand glided without direction from her mind. A scar appeared momentarily on the forehead of her subject, and it was complete. She stared wondrously at the picture before folding it carefully and placing it in the breast pocket atop her heart.

* * *

Harry stood irritably in the center of a muggle airport. He unconsciously rubbed his scar as he contemplated the situation. It wasn't a good idea to use magic any longer…it was too easily traced and tracked. No one could follow him; no one could know what he was doing. No matter, he knew of no spells that would assist him anyhow. 

After transforming a fair chunk of his Gringotts account to muggle money, he had taken the first available flight to America. Three hundred million people or not, if she was here, he would find her. He had to.

The first flight turned out to be to New York…it seemed like a good place to start.

However, that sentiment changed dramatically upon arriving at…where the hell was he? Harry's eyes drifted upwards to a nearby sign—JFK Airport. Unpleasant place, indeed. He grumbled his way through the crowd and ignored the shoves into his torso as he made his way to baggage claim.

He had only brought one bag with him, a duffel bag purchased at an airport store in London. The clothes filling the bag had also been bought at the airport while he waited for his flight. He knew enough about muggle fashion to know that these clothes were not in the least bit stylish…but nor did he care.

Ginny. Simply being in America gave him the feeling that he was close to her. He was finally doing something; he was finally participating in the search for her. For the first time in a long time he wasn't useless to her.

He tossed his bag over his shoulder and made his way outside. He needed someplace to go…someplace to begin his search. He needed a contact.

Unfortunately, everyone whom he could think to call upon was magical. And anyone from magical descent was simply unacceptable at the moment. He had money. Perhaps not as much as he once had…but enough to bribe a few people, he supposed.

He thought back briefly to Muggle Studies (Hermione had insisted upon Ron and he taking it) and what he had learned in school before he knew of Hogwarts existence. The States weren't something discussed in large detail. He knew that Americans had originally been British…and there was something about a tea scandal and then they began calling themselves Americans, started a war, and now they defiantly refuse to have a proper tea time.

Nothing about that information helped him, though. He needed someone to help him find Ginny, and right now he was drawing a complete blank.

"What else do I know about Americans?" he wondered aloud. And, more specifically, he needed to know about Americans in New York. Nothing, he realized with anger, he knew absolutely nothing useful. They drove on the wrong side of the road, held far too many elections, and they had Ginny!

He leaned against a wall with a sigh. He needed some sort of help, he would get nowhere on his own. Harry bit his lip in contemplation before making a decision. It was meant for emergencies only and there was the fear that it could be traced and he could be tracked down…but it was the only thing he could think of.

He pulled a cellular telephone out of his suitcase. Hermione had bought three and placed various charms upon each. He, she, and Ron kept their "cell phones" with them at all times. They worked on magic, rather than signals as Hermione said the muggles' did. Muggle devices didn't work in the magical world, their technology failed. So for the phones to work, magic was the only solution. Because they worked on magic, though, they could be traced by the Ministry…but he desperately needed to contact Hermione.

Harry pressed the send button down and hoped for the best.

* * *

"Alexandria?" 

"My name isn't Alexandria," she responded automatically.

Jack sighed. "What should I call you, then?"

She shrugged.

"You need a name."

"I have a name," she snapped, "I just can't recall it at the moment."

"Well, until you do, don't you think you should come up with something to be called?"

"Fine. Pick a name, then."

"It will be_ your_ name," he pointed out, "so don't you want to have a say in it?"

"No one has a say in their name. When they are born their parents name them and in most circumstances that is the name they go by for the rest of their lives. So, no, I don't think I should have a say in it, because no one else does."

Her hand unconsciously touched her breast pocket where her drawing was currently hidden. "I'm sorry. I am just in a really horrible mood at the moment…I don't mean to take it out on you."

"It's fine. We'll just think of the name thing later, then."

"No, you're right. We might as well do it now. Who do I look like?"

"Pardon?"

She blushed at the obscurity of the conversation. "What kind of name do I look like? I'm not an Alexandria…but maybe something else would fit me."

"Julie?"

She wrinkled her nose, "No."

"Samantha?"

"That doesn't sound right either. May I see a mirror?"

"Of course you may."

She followed Jack down a hallway and into a large bathroom. She stepped closely to the mirror, gasping at the sight. There had been no mirror in her room at the hospital. She had been curious to see herself, but every time she asked for a mirror, some excuse was given to her. Now she understood why. The cuts on her face…and the bruises…she was so…

"Ugly," she whispered aloud. "I am absolutely hideous."

"Scraps and bruises do not make a person ugly, you know. Those will heal with time."

"The cuts will scar. At least, the deeper ones will, especially—" she stopped short. For the first time, she noticed the cut on her forehead. It was identical to the one she had drawn this afternoon. "May I be alone for a moment?" she asked.

"Of course," Jack responded as he quietly left the bathroom, shutting the door on his way out.

Once alone, she pulled the drawing out of her pocket and stared at it intently. The boy that she had drawn…his scar was identical to the gash on her head. The same strange lightening bolt shape…It couldn't be a coincidence, she decided. She drew in a quick breath as she imagined the pain she must have endured as someone carved that into her forehead. It was far too perfect to have been anything other than intentional. Someone had wanted that there.

She looked again at the man in her drawing. Maybe he was her torturer; perhaps he was some insane freak that wanted them to have matching scars. Or maybe he was no one at all…just a figment of her imagination. It was possible that the scar had come from her suppressed memories, right?

She sighed. He was too familiar, though. She hadn't just made him up, she was sure of it. He was a part of her past…she just couldn't recall which part.

She slipped out of the bathroom and into a room across the hall. She wanted to draw again…maybe drawing would release more figures of her memory, and then maybe one of them would spark that lost memory and everything would make sense again.

This room appeared to be a library or study of sorts. She went to the desk and opened up the first drawer. She easily found a notebook of paper and a pencil was already lying on the desk.

When she opened up the notebook, though, a drawing already resided there. She had not drawn it, yet it invoked the same feeling in the pit of her stomach as if she had. She slid her chair away from the drawing and felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her. She didn't want to be near that drawing…there was something about it that frightened her.

She bravely peered over to it once more. There was nothing immediately "scary" about it. It was odd, to be sure, but not something that should make her feel ill. It was only a skull with a snake wrapped around it…nothing to fear.

She shook her head, she was just being jumpy. To fear a picture, really, it was laughable. Except, she had no desire to laugh, she only had the urge to cry once more.

* * *


End file.
